


we may be parted but that don't cut us at the roots

by oceandrops



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Cheese, Disney is the devil, F/M, Keira is not a Marvel fan, Quarantine, mentions of Andrew Garfield, mentions of Hayley Atwell, mentions of James Righton, mentions of Jamie Dornan, mentions of Jessica Biel, mentions of Scarlett Johnasson, take my research with a healthy dose of salt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceandrops/pseuds/oceandrops
Summary: Chris makes a new old friend in quarantine. Keira overshares.This was the result of spending too much time in self-isolation reading IMDB trivia pages.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Keira Knightley
Kudos: 1





	we may be parted but that don't cut us at the roots

They were friendly, but not friends. Ran in the same circles for years before those circles got tighter and tighter, and the chaos of the mid-2000s and the Hollywood gossip boon seemed to die down, or at least, seem to steer in a more Kardashian-directed manner. Maybe she'd be dating his friend or friend of a friend, or he'd be with someone in her periphery — there were group dates and parties and booze and a haze of weird Los Angeles nights than ran into weeks into months into years and then suddenly 

suddenly

Marvel happened, life happened. Chapters closed. Opportunities opened. Career, marriage, babies. There were events and friendly hellos in passing but the last time either said a word to the other may have easily been half a decade ago.

Now, stuck in self-isolation, there was still a career to maintain in between tooling around on Twitter and A Starting Point, which consumed most of his time on a good day. But there were still scripts, _fucking good_ scripts, scripts he didn't have to read for. Scripts that called for a lead actress, the embodiment of strength and femininity and fire, fierce but soft. A very, very notably picky lead actress.

Thus, how he finds himself tasked with a phone call to try and wheedle her into giving it a chance, through maybe her own boredom or temptation for a decent role. Wheedle her? Charm her, that's what his co-producer had said. Turn on the ol' Evans charm. But with her somehow — feels wrong. Even without knowing her, she's intimidating professionally. He leans back into the comfortable sofa, one that has all-too-well learned the shape of his form these days, and dials a contact in his phone with too many numbers.

It rings twice before a clipped, hurried voice answers, as if she just barely answered in time. "Hello?"

"Keira? Hey, it's Chris. Evans. Chris Evans." He cringes, not sure why he said it twice.

"Oh, hey! Yes! My contact in LA told me you'd be calling tonight. Do you mind giving me — give me just a second? Both of the girls are still up and it's just me here, though I've got one about to go down. I can put her down and — can you give me just a second?"

"Sure, I'll be right here." 

With that, Chris hears what he's sure is the distinct _thud_ of an iPhone being dropped on something, some rustling in the background, and then "Okay! Sorry for that. One girl down. One fussing a bit. They're both into a routine but it's a the part where I have to convince them they _want_ to be asleep that's hardest."

"No worries, I understand." He relaxes a little; she's as friendly as she'd always been, and it's a good sign.

"And thank you for the call, I know most everyone is on Zoom but I'd hate for you to see the state of things here. And Delilah's still nursing and I'd hate for that to exist as a backdrop to this conversation. I suppose I could green screen her out but — might look a bit off."

He cringes, not so much at the imagery but more on her behalf. "No, no I totally get it. Baby steps. We'll get you there eventually."

She laughs, a real laugh, no tinkling flirtatious lilt and he likes it. "So. Catch up first or jump straight into shop talk?"

Chris settles in to his seat with a smile, almost forgetting for a moment the purpose of this call. Maybe it was because this is the first conversation he's had in days that wasn't with a worried family member or some member of his team up his ass about deadlines and interviews. "Tell me about your girls."

"Oh, you picked the easy way out, then? Edie's almost five. I fear she'll turn five in quarantine and we won't get a proper birthday celebration with Grandmum and Grandad and her daddy and uncle and auntie and cousin. Delilah's just turned seven months. They're both good girls, and it's a tense time. Nights are hard." There's a short, terse silence. "Their dad was touring right before the borders closed. Our friends have a small garden house off theirs, a little guest house over in Tottenham. So he's quarantining there."

"Oh, wow." Chris hadn't wanted to ask before, when she mentioned it was only her with the girls. The pandemic had divided families and tested relationships in ways not seen before. It couldn't be easy to suddenly be thrust into single motherhood. Suddenly, calling from thousands of miles away to bother her about a script for a film that wouldn't come to pass for months feels wholly insignificant, considering the state of things. "He should be done anytime though, right? I'm sure he'll be back home before you know it." 

"We'll see. We've been trying to keep up with the news. Some of the research says it's up to twenty-seven days now, so." Something hangs in the air on the end of her sentence, and Chris can't quite put a finger on it. Apathy, or quiet resignation, maybe. He doesn't know her well enough to say for sure. The implication of _touring_ suggests maybe single motherhood is something Keira's been conquering for quite some time. Or maybe he's reading into things that aren't there. "I think I was actually pregnant with Edie the last time we saw each other. In LA, like... well, five-ish years ago."

"Oh, yeah. Oscars! Congrats on that. Five years late."

She laughs. "Oh, thanks. All I remember is being huge and itchy and uncomfortable and unable to drink in a city I loathe." Before he can interrupt to argue that she hadn't been huge, she'd been beautiful, which he truly believed, she cuts in again. "And how are you holding up, then? New hobbies, crochet maybe? Knitting? Reiki? Popping all of your blackheads? All of your girlfriend's blackheads? Pumping iron to keep that Captain America physique?"

The last line is said teasingly, and he laughs. "No need for that now, unless I want to work on Old Man Steve's form. Knock knees and saggy skin and all. And now I'll be noticing nothing but my own blackheads from here on out, thanks. No girlfriend to do it for me, and no girlfriend with blackheads to pop. I'll have to settle for my own. Knitting and reiki both sound interesting. I actually — my friend and I started a website, sort of political and educational — or we _are_ starting one. It was gonna launch last month but because of everything we've had to move some stuff around." He pauses. "Two months ago it seemed like the best, clearest, fastest way to get plain and simple information out there to everyone. But maybe that's not the case anymore. Things changed so fast."

"Mm." She pauses too, and he pictures her nodding or at least even briefly considering what he said. "I don't know. One thing that's, you know, simultaneously baffling and comforting to me is that... it's something we're all going through, on a global scale. Everyone is dealing with this in some aspect, from illness or quarantine or being right there working on the front lines. We've got it so easy compared to everyone else."

"People keep using the phrase 'when this is over'," he agrees, easing over to lay across the sofa. "I just... don't know if that's — I can see this going on for a long time. I mean, I don't know if this is going to be over anytime soon. There's just so much death and and sickness and the idea of people talking about that in the context of 'when I can go see my friends again' and not getting to spend Easter Sunday in church services when then there could be another surge in the virus and then _more_ people could get sick and..." Chris trails off. 

There's silence on Keira's end, until she finally says, "I don't remember you being such a fucking Debbie Downer before."

It takes him by such surprise that he bursts out laughing; explosive, chest-ripping laughter that he's sure probably killed Keira's ear. "Yeah, well, thirty-eight days with only myself and my dog for company has turned me into a pessimist I guess," he chuckles. "Or age." 

"You can't hang everything on the age excuse, I've aged, too."

"You've aged beautifully," he protests before he can stop himself. 

"If you say like a fine wine, I will break my self-isolation and fly to America and slap you myself," she warns.

"More like a good cheese," Chris teases. "Like a gruyere, or a pecarino."

"Much better."

"It's why I'm trying to get myself into the on-screen-husbands-of-Keira-Knightley club. It's exclusive, I want in, especially if there's cheese."

"There's cheese, but it's the pull-apart kind your mum sends to school with you in your lunch box. Tasteless mozzarella. A lie of protein that's only good for separating into strings and flinging at the other kids."

"Even if that were a fraction of the truth, I can clear a ten-pack of string cheese in no time, with no problem." Not an appropriate, or even endearing, thing to admit, and he groans inwardly. But Chris pushed forward, "But I was serious about wanting in the club. We want you for this role, if you're interested. I'm hoping you are, and didn't just pick up the phone tonight to entertain a conversation about quarantine and cheese."

A small sigh escaped from her end of the phone. "I'm interested, yes, of course. It's a lovely script - and, I'll admit up front I've not read through the end. Got the gist, and the plot, yes. The role is solid as it stands, but what is the financial situation behind the film? Who are the backers? Your production company? Is there a clause that keeps them from interfering creatively?" Before Chris has a chance to answer, she interjects, "Like I said, it's a phenomenal script. And a lovely, solid role. But it's... character-driven, not plot-driven. And I fear when it comes down to editing, some may fail to see that. So they cut around these little moments, the moments that turn a role or a character into a person. They do it to pad the story with a little more action to drive it. And it's always the woman, that ends up on the cutting room floor. So she's reduced to 'the wife'. Or 'the girlfriend'. And I prefer to be cautious when it comes to accepting jobs now, because — well, I have two little girls who are going to look back at my body of work one day and I don't want them constantly seeing me having to be a tentpole to a man's story." 

"I'm an executive producer," he finally manages to say. "I wouldn't let that happen. I wanted to have a hand as producer because this script is _that good._ I want you for this script because _you_ are that good."

"It's an easy promise to make now," Keira says, and he imagines she has a small smile on her face when she does. "But what about six months from now?"

"That's the beauty of independent filmmaking, I guess? I'm still getting my feet wet, here. We make the film we want and the people who want to pay for it as is, we let them. If they want to make changes, we tell them to fuck off and try someone else."

Keira's quiet for a moment. "You make a compelling argument. But you're new to it. It's not about trust, it's about ...feeling safe in uncharted territory."

"Thanks, I think...?"

"I mean, it would be different if it were a director, or another producer, or maybe the screen writer on this call with me. I hope I'm not offending. I'm just not sure — I mean, did they ask you to call me for some reason?"

Chris rolls his eyes. The dilemma is easy to understand, but it feels a little patronizing. "I think maybe they thought we were friends. I mean, better than we are. Since we used to hang out with some of the same people and all. You were friends with Jess, and Scarlett, and Hayley, and — "

"Scarlett and I were hardly friends," she says sharply, maybe without meaning to, because her tone softens after that. "But Jess was always lovely. Haven't spent much time with her in ages just, because. And Hayley! I knew her waaaay before you did. And that was even before the Captain America thing."

He furrows his brow, wondering if it's just her phrasing that's throwing off. And wondering if it's his memory that's foggy, years of friendships and mutual friendships running together and clouding the past. "Captain America thing?"

"You know. The casting shakeup and all."

Chris sits up on his sofa again — he knew there had been a pretty rigorous audition process for _literally everyone but him_ , but — was there something he was missing? "I don't think I remember."

"Oh. It doesn't matter now, I suppose. They wanted you, they couldn't get you, they auditioned a bunch of people. I read with Henry, it went fine. We were as good as cast. Then they got you, Henry was dropped. I was still hanging in there, they weren't planning on auditioning any more Peggys. Then the Disney merger happened. And... " She starts trailing off, but finds herself again. "I pulled out. No contracts signed, no hard feelings, nothing broken, nothing lost. And I do believe the right woman got the part in the end."

His head is spinning at this... probably not new information, probably something that was told to him once that he filed away or it went in one ear and out the other. A decade worth of information in one ear and out the other. Hayley never detailed her audition process to him. "Why?"

"Why did I pull out?"

"Yeah."

"I just..." He's patient, waiting for her to find the words. "Two years prior I'd spent... a healthy part of the year locked in my house having a nervous breakdown, partly because of Disney. Because I'd given up the last of childhood and my youth to a Disney franchise and the entire world watched me grow up through the eyes of paparazzi lens. I thought people hated me. I had a horrible self-image. I wanted to be taken seriously as a person and an actress. i wanted to be able to have fun again. I wanted to _like myself_ again. I wanted to breathe without someone sticking a camera up my skirt to get a shot of my knickers." There's a tense silence, and he can tell she has more to say, no matter how uncomfortable it sounds. "I wasn't ready to give away more of myself to another Disney franchise." 

It's... a lot. He hadn't expected her to share this much. Maybe it's the effect of the quarantine, the shared loneliness, or maybe she's genuinely this open with everyone. "It's completely understandable. I remember how much you went through. You were exposed to a lot and you were really young. It was a lot to take on."

"And I do mean it when I say the right woman got the part," Keira adds hastily. "Hayley was perfect. She was so great and she was able to do so many other things that I wouldn't have been able to - like appearing in the other films, the telly series, countless comic-cons. She loved the role and she was committed and she brought everything to it. I'd have told them to piss off even at the suggestion of a spin-off. Especially one that put me within a ten mile radius of Chad Michael Murray."

He snorts. "Hey, I remember the guy, no further explanations needed. Haley's a saint."

"Indeed."

"Did you enjoy the movies, at least?"

She hesitates. "Honestly, I've not seen most of them. I was a bit sour on them as a whole after it seemed like the investors and producers bent over backward to fuck Andy over. Then other things sort of took over my life. Work, babies. You know."

Chris honestly has to take a solid five seconds racking his brain to understand, to remember and then — _oh._ Yeah. Andy. Andrew Garfield. Keira's friend, the other Spider-Man. That really nice guy who loved Peter Parker and talked endlessly about how he couldn't wait for Sony and Marvel to figure out a way to merge so he could join the Avengers. Then got dropped for another English Spider-Man who Chris actually likes a lot but if he'd learnt anything about Keira during their short conversation, she was nothing if not fiercely loyal. And she's not _completely_ wrong, so he chooses to remain diplomatic. "I understand that. Andrew is a really nice guy, that whole situation was a mess. I wish things had worked out differently."

"I don't," and he can hear her bristling. "He's done tons of brilliant things since then that he wouldn't have been able to do otherwise. But he quite enjoyed making those films and didn't deserve to be embarrassed and let down like that on such a global stage." He cringes at the memory. He wasn't privy to many behind-the-scenes talks and only found out when the world did, but she was right. And when it happened then, it was certainly more situational, but there was a cautionary, _Let this be a lesson to you, everyone is replaceable,_ warning that hung in the air. Sony was Sony and Marvel was Marvel, but there was the odd Terrance Howard or Edward Norton anomaly. He must have been quiet for too long, because Keira adds, "Did you get to see _Angels in America?"_

"I did, yeah. You're right. He was incredible in it." Then, mischievously, "Did you happen to see _his_ Spider-Man movies?"

"Of course not."

Chris snorts. 

"Don't get me wrong, I love a popcorn flick as much as the next person. None of this is prejudice. I have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to watching anything these days. And... I'm a Batman girl at heart."

"Oh, ouch."

"Watched _Batman: The Animated Series_ during its original run and all. It actually aired over here, you know. And I quite fancied Christian Bale for a time."

"Just keep sticking that knife in further, Keira."

She laughs, and he hears a baby gurgle in the background. "Hold on."

"Okay." It's a long enough moment for Dodger to abandon his spot on his bed to come curl up with him on the couch, tucked under his arm with his chin resting on Chris's knee. He thumps his tail, eyes gazing up longingly as if to ask _Walk now?_

Her voice comes back over the line again only a moment later. "Okay, sorry for that. Had to burp and switch... arms."

"It's no problem." They've gotten so far off topic of the reason for the call, a break was probably necessary to redirect. "Did you have any questions about the script? Or filming itself?" 

"I suppose the 'when' of it all is out of bounds for you right now — assuming it's on pause or pushed back like everything else in the world. I'd just need to know how long, and where, so I can plan appropriately with my husband and get the visa application in."

"Right. So far, it's looking like Boston isn't out of the game yet. And as far as when... I mean, originally, August? But who knows now."

"Yeah." There's a weird quiet on her end. "And, you know. I _would_ like to talk more about it sometime. Maybe sometime soon. It's not that you haven't assuaged those fears I mentioned. I know how much confidence you have in this. If nothing else I'm convinced of that. But I'd love to talk more with the writers, or the director, if they're available to chat with us all together."

Chris sighs and runs his free hand through his hair with a tiny bit of frustration, trying not to make it so audible on her end. "Yeah, for sure. I don't think it would take much convincing on my end, we can work out a date and time." Her concerns are valid, he reminds himself, and this was always meant to be on the more informal side. "We won't be shoving any contracts in your face until all that's settled, at least."

"And maybe I can clean up my sitting room or something and figure out Zoom so we can video chat. Or maybe run through scenes together."

"I'd like that a lot, actually." 

The conversation is all but finished, but neither of them hang up, and he can hear her murmuring gentle quiet things to her baby in the background. After several moments, "Delilah's finally down. I'm sorry, I'd not meant to keep you on so long." 

"It's okay, really. Not like I've got a lot of big late night plans here lately."

"Actually, it does sound like you are working on quite a few things. Which is good right now. To stay busy." Chris can practically hear the grin in her voice when she follows it up with, "And I'm quite flattered you've no plans to ring up a bunch of other old mates of your ex-girlfriends and proposition them for film roles."

He can't help the eyeroll but he's glad she can't see him. "We were friends back then, too, Keira." 

"We could have been better friends." It's a simple statement that says so much more: about the jealousy of her ex-boyfriends, the implied inappropriateness of a friendship with the boyfriend of a friend, or the friend of his girlfriend. The cordial hellos and cheek kisses and group dates where a much younger Keira and Jessica and their girlfriends would disappear into the bathroom for several minutes at a time, leaving Chris and — god, it pains him to even remember _Christian Grey,_ would sit in uncomfortable silence. And this was back when he didn't have an iPhone or Twitter to play idly with until the girls came back. "We can do better now."

"We will. We are." Dodger's rolling onto his back on the sofa, digging his snout into the cushions over the frustration of being ignored. "It's getting late, especially where you are. Can I call you later this week?"

"Of course! Tomorrow?"

He's both excited, and relieved. "Tomorrow would be great." Dodger has a throw pillow in his mouth, and Chris takes a moment to wrestle it away. "Jesus, buddy, calm down." Back to Keira, he says, "Same time?"

She laughs in reply. "Same time is perfect. Having pupper problems?"

Chris laughs too. "He's getting tired of me being a lazy piece of shit and thinks as long as I'm home all the time, we should be on walks all the time."

"Send me a video of him sometime. I know the girls would love to see him. Edie loves dogs."

"When you guys come to Boston, you'll get to meet him. Promise. He's great with kids."

"Can't wait. Good night for now, love."

"Night." The call ends, and Chris finds himself stunned into place on the sofa, at the surprise nickname and the call length: sixty-seven minutes. He glances out the balcony window, surprised to find the sun already set across the river in the distance and leaving the sky a dark red, edging into black. Dodger's digging in the sofa again, but jumps up when Chris finally stretches and stands. "Alright, alright! You win. We'll go."

༄

Later that night, his eyes open blearily to see the figure of a woman seated on the edge of the bed facing away from him, long brown hair down her back, rocking a baby in her arms. Murmuring sweet, soft things in that blissful, maddening English lilt. She turns when she realizes he's awake, and he catches her profile. "She only woke up for a moment, love. Go back to sleep. I'll be there soon."

Chris can't help himself, he reaches for her. His hand slides across the smooth comforter until he almost reaches her elbow —

When he wakes for real, there's no woman, no baby. Only Dodger snoozing at the furthermost corner of the bed, slightly disgruntled at the disruption. His heart pounds at the realization that it was a dream — then the realization of _what_ he was dreaming. He leans back into his pillow, and throws his arm over his eyes. _Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written RPF in 84 years so I can't guarantee accuracy to everything here, especially the timelines. Marvel bibliophiles and Chris Evans stans, don't come for me! This was allllllll in good fun.
> 
> In my head it started with Chris realizing Keira's banged everyone else in the MCU on screen and decided he wants in, especially after finding out she was considered for Peggy Carter. I think she would have made an amazing Peggy!
> 
> Wash your hands everyone!


End file.
